


The Only Thing on Your Lips (is my Leftover Chapstick)

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, M/M, Or at least the au is, Punk Sherlock, Sherlock is in a band, john is a sweet flower child, john is mute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:51:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson, mute since 12 and living with his sister, has the opportunity to see one of his favorite bands. The front-man Sherlock Holmes has an eye set on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Eyes; Red Lace and Clovers.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting my drawing of the band on tumblr! Visit my blog to see those and tell me what you think   
> dating-in-school.tumblr.com

John holds his dry-erase board between his arm and side, just in case he has to say something. He's been mute since he was 12 years old. He remembers the last words he'd said. His sister's name just as his dad hit her. He turned to John and hit him in the throat and that was the it.

When he woke up in the hospital, his sister was talking to the doctors with tears in her eyes. He tried to say her name but no sound came out, only pain. He tapped on the metal bar surrounding his hospital bad.

 "Johnny, don't say anything." She said when she heard the noise. She pushed his hair off of his forehead and placed a kiss there. "I've got some bad news, Johnny-boy. The doc told me that he thinks that dad really gave you some damage..." She told him. She kept pushing his hair back. "We don't think that you're gonna talk again...I'm so sorry..."

 John looked at Harry. He couldn't say anything even if he wanted to. Harry was crying onto his blankets. He pet her curly red hair and shook his head a few times. A day later, she gave him a dry erase board and told him that he would need it every day if he didn't want to learn sign language. He learned it anyways, but kept the board for the sake of time.

 That story would result in the current situation. An 18 year old John Watson was standing in the back field of some bar in the country to see one of his favorite bands. They got started in London and John had stumbled across them while browsing Tumblr. They did a lot of covers, but when they did an original song they used very obscure lyrics and sounds in their music. The front-man, Sherlock Holmes, is often seen out on the town with a recorder so he could record various noises. John had the biggest crush on him.

 He was surrounded by cigarette smoke, _not-cigarette_ smoke, flowers, and a whole lot of drinking teens. Sherlock Holmes was on stage, singing a cover of "Suck it and See" by Arctic Monkeys. John stared at him in awe; eyes closed, _feeling_ the music. His raven hair was surrounded by a purple haze. His eyes were circled in red eyeliner and he wore a white shirt that had The Cure on it with black skinny jeans. His guitarist and bassist, Victor Trevor and Sebastian Moran, were wearing plaid button-ups, Moran's rolled up and undone while Trevor's still remained conservative. Buttoned and wholesome. The drummer, Greg Lestrade, had a white t-shirt on as well, but his was drenched in sweat. His bright blue hair was sticking to his forehead as he pounded the drums with the ferocity of a summer storm. They were all good looking and even more so when they were all in the throws of music like they were now. John wished that he was up there. He didn't know what he would do if he were but he would at least be up there.

 There was a set of eyes on him. It was hard to tell who it was in a crowd but he looks around. There's no-one around him starring so he looks back up to Sherlock and he knows who is starring. Sherlock's red-laced eyes were looking at him intently. The song ended and now the band was playing some jaunty tune.

 "Now, a lucky audience member is going to come up." Sherlock's rich voice said into the microphone. The girls screamed. Sherlock still looked at him. "Settle down, settle down." He chuckled. "I've already got someone….in my sights…"

 Sherlock pointed at him. John looked around to see if anyone else was moving up to be on stage. Nobody was and John turned back to Sherlock. "Yes you, sweetheart." He said to John. The short boy was blushing horribly as he adjusted the purple and white flower crown on his head and started to walk up. If he would scream he could. He put his board on stage first, it landed near Sherlock's feet. He then shimmied onto the stage on his stomach. Sherlock stepped forward to help him up and in the process broke John's board. John stood up, stared at it, and began to panic. How will he talk to Sherlock Holmes? He looked at the board to see if there was any salvageable piece and found that there wasn't.

 "What's your name, kid?" Sherlock asked. John was sweating. He pointed at his board and made a writing motion in the air. "Oh shite, sorry, man!" Sherlock exclaimed. John made an "It's no big deal" hand gesture. He got out the pen he had on a string around his neck from under his lilac jumper and broke the string to get it off. He pushed his sleeve up and wrote his name on his arm in not-so-steady handwriting. Sherlock smiled and took the pen. Even though he could say it first. He wrote his next question on John's arm and then said it aloud.

 "Why can't you speak?" He asked. John looked at the pale spot of his wrist where Sherlock held his arm and he looked at the singer's messy hand. John took the pen back and wrote his answer. He was floating.

 "Mute."

 Sherlock nodded and put a sad face on John's arm. "John, here, is mute-" there was a sympathetic murmur from the crowd. John has tired of that fucking murmur all of his life but he doesn't show it now. "And I bet that he's good with the ladies. He's a listener-" a quick laugh. "Who here would snog John Watson?" Sherlock said. A few hands shot up in the crowd, a few whoops and hollers. "Good, good" Sherlock laughed. "Too bad he's mine."

 

Sherlock, then, leaned in and planted a kiss on John's unsuspecting lips. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, John felt like he was being submerged into peppermint water, like he was standing on top of the tallest building in the world in a terrible storm. It was exhilarating. Sherlock let him go and looked into his eyes. He grabbed the pen again and wrote something in the available space. It was a phone number surrounded by hearts. "Text me." Sherlock said and helped him off stage.

 

"Talk to you tonight, babe." he said with a wink. John smiled and nodded.


	2. A Blue Apologie

John felt like his legs were jelly. He could smell strawberries and vodka and he felt happy, much happier than he's been a while. He stumbled to his Volkswagen van and sat there for a good while to think about the events of tonight. How could he be so fortunate? He pulled his phone out and began to text Harry.

You'll never believe what happened tonight XD

He sat and waited for a response before starting his car.

**Sherlock Holmes breathed in your general direction?**

He smiled and quickly tapped out a reply.

Well, smartarse. You're gonna wait until I get home to hear the story. You are honestly not going to believe it.

/////

He pulled into the cracked lot that his building sat on. The van jumped over the cracks and shook as it went into his usual spot next to the front door of his and his sister's flat. He didn't even remember getting out of the car until he was at the door, twisting the knob and seeing his sister look eagerly at him. He starts to sign at her. He tells her that Sherlock Holmes (which he just signs as the letters S and H) had pulled him up on stage and broke his board on accident (Harry was a little heated about that part but she let him go on.) He showed is arm to her and pointed excitedly at the digits scrawled on pale skin.

"You've gotta text him, mate!" She tells him. He pulled his phone out and sat on the sofa with a deep breath and looked at his arm to get the number. His thumbs flew over letters but he couldn't settle on a beginning statement.

Hey, it's John Watson. Thank you for tonight.

He looked over it and showed it to her sister. She nodded minutely and pressed send for him with her usual snarky grin. They sat and waited as if the text was a love note passed in a boring class. He signed quickly to her to ask her what she think is going to happen.

"He'll fall in love with you, ickle Johnny-Boy." She, with a pinch to his cheeks, said reassuringly. They waited for a short while longer and then heard a chime from his phone. They looked at it, then at each other. It was a call from him.

"Answer it, then." Harry said in a low tone. John was confused and expressed this to her but she gave him a look that made him move his hand to answer it. The voice on the other line was cold and calculated, nothing like tonight's rich tone.

"John. I thought you'd be a little more bright than this. Tonight was for publicity purposes. A band with good fan relation is statistically more likely to get on the map. I have no want, nor any need, to have a relationship with my fan in any way, platonic or romantic. Delete this number and don't try to contact me again. I have security."

There was a final click and John put his phone down. Harry looked at him and he could only imagine smoke coming out of his big sister's ears.

"I'M GONNA CALL THAT STROPPY GIT AND SHOVE HIS POMPOUS MOUTH DOWN HIS-"

John put a hand over her mouth and signed to her to calm down. He told her not to worry about it but she could tell that he was crushed.

She was right.

Nobody ever seems to fall for John. He can't speak which makes it hard for people to communicate regularly with him without getting tired of it. Finding someone who knows how to sign is a bigger problem because no-one wants to learn it.

"You shouldn't sit here and take this! That's rude and you should be pissed." Harry said with a shake of her head. "I don't want people treating you like a fucking charity case."

She finally said it. The charity comment that he'd been waiting for. Suddenly filled with rage, his hands flew.

 _Do you think I'm not angry about this, Harry? I feel like shite about it!_ He began at her. She looked at him for a moment before voicing her reply.

"I'm not calling him, but I think that you should do something about it if he doesn't fucking apologize for it." Harry said softly and got up. Her curls bobbed as she walked to the kitchen. "I'm ordering take-out. The usual?"

He moved his hand without looking at her. She nodded and began to call the local Chinese place. He looked at his phone in dismay. How stupid could he be to fall for that? Someone actually interested in him? Never. He got up and went to his room to sulk in private. He felt like a teenage girl and it was ridiculous. He felt weak. He shouldn't feel that way about someone he doesn't even know.

There was a beep from his phone. A notification tone. He still feels mad and he hopes that it's something uplifting because he didn’t feel like dealing with anything less. It's a text from a number he doesn’t recognize.

_**Hey, this is Greg Lestrade. The drummer from tonight. I got your number from Sherlock's phone. I wanted to tell you that he's a dick with everyone. If you wanna get a pint sometime and talk, I'll pay. Sorry that he put you down like that.** _


	3. A/N

Hey! I just wanted to let you know that I'm _really trying_ to get chapter 3 done! I know it's been, like, 40 years since I've updated. School's being a bitch and I'm pretty booked up but whenever I've got the time I'm getting more and more done!

 

As for the person asking why Harry's hair is red when John's hair is blonde, it's because they're mom was a redhead. That will be brought up later, though. Sorry if it confused you!

-Adrian (TheCatsMeow136)


	4. Bubble Popping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully you guys will be a little more happy! the next chapter will be longer *holds out pinky* I promise!  
> -ALSO-  
> If you'd like to see a certain song be performed by our band (which I will keep nameless for a little longer) please shoot me and ask at she-killed-the-rock.tumblr.com OR just let me know in the comments!

Greg knew he couldn't hide the fact that he took Sherlock's phone. The first reason was because he and the band were on a party bus, the other reasons consisted of Sherlock being a smartarse and a bloody git. He was able to read people in a way that Greg could never quite comprehend. It was as if everyone around him were a bubble, though they had many iridescent shades, he could either look through them with ease and concentration or simply pop them. Greg thinks that Sherlock obliterated this flower-wearing bubble. He went to the bathroom to text the bloke that Sherlock popped so blatantly. He felt bad for him because he doesn't understand how Sherlock is. He doesn't have to listen to him as he tears the other people down, too. This one was especially bad, too, because he was so seemingly delicate. The band's manager (Sherlock's posh brother Mycroft whom Greg may or may not have a crush on) said that a cardinal rule was: not to make fun of your fanbase. Mainly because they never knew how said fan would react. For all they could know, that guy could completely blast him on the internet.

He texts him in a way that he thinks is sly. Tries to offer him drinks and stuff. He apologized sincerely and completely and waited for a response while sitting on the couch in the bus. Moran was in the back with some chick while Sherlock sat with the driver. Victor sat with Greg, tinkering with his phone and not making conversation.

"LESTRADE. DO NOT TEXT THAT BLUBBERING IDIOT BACK." Sherlock yelled from the front of the bus. Greg huffed and wondered how Sherlock knew that he'd gotten the phone but chose not to think into it too much.

"Why'd you give him your actual number, then?" Greg yelled back. There was stomping from the front of the bus, the driver yelling at Sherlock for something, and then Sherlock pushing himself through the bead-curtain separating the two parts of the bus.

"Look, they usually don't text back or call." Sherlock said. He didn't look into Greg's eyes.

"That's a bullshit answer, mate!" Greg said sternly. Sherlock looked up at him, lips pursed in a face that vaguely looked as if he'd just stepped in a puddle with his socks on.

"It is not bullshit and-"

"Sherlock. If you have a crush on the bloke, tell him. If you don't, fucking apologize. He's in bits."

They looked at each other for a long, and desert dry ten seconds before Sherlock's conversed feet stomped back up to sit with the driver. Greg heard a ping from his phone which was sitting next to him. He grabbed it eagerly.

I don't need your pity pint. I appreciate the thought but don't do Sherlock Holmes' bidding. If he wants to do something, he can see me. You did good tonight, by the way.

Greg looked at it with a sigh. He's always hated being Sherlock's damage control.


End file.
